


Pitfall

by PotsAndPandemonium



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon Colosseum & XD
Genre: Orre, Pokemon - Freeform, Shadow Pokemon, cipher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotsAndPandemonium/pseuds/PotsAndPandemonium
Summary: Having grown up in the depths of the Under, Karen knows two things: that money is scarce and safety is scarcer. Her winnings from the Deep Colosseum are just enough to keep her family fed, but there’s never enough left to pay for what Karen really needs - a way out of Orre for good.When a foreign fire specialist arrives at the Deep, Karen strikes a deal with him, agreeing to train him in the rough, violent style of her region in return for payment. But things are growing more dangerous in the Under. When Karen is drawn into a conflict that spans throughout the city, everything changes, and she finds herself faced with a decision that will change the course of her life forever.





	Pitfall

The carriage doors clank open and in floods the next crowd of sweaty bodies, pressing me and Disc right up to the windows. He growls, low in his throat, barely audible above the engine. I twist my head round and shoot him a look.

            “Don’t fucking bite anybody.”

            His rings pulse. Agitated. He doesn’t like crowds – not these types of crowds. The woman in front’s got her massive denim-clad ass right in his face, and I can already picture him biting down on it like a goddamn peach.

            Two more stops. Just two more.

            My phone buzzes against my thigh. I have to snake my hand through the crush to reach it, and it’s five more rings before I claw the damn thing out of my pocket. I push it to my ear without checking the name.

            “Karen?” a voice whispers. “Karen, you there?”

            Ripley. Fuck.

            “What d’you want?” I say.

            “Oh, thank God. I’m in deep shit. You gotta come help me.”

            “I’m busy,” I snap. “The fuck’re you whispering for?”

            “Shh! I’m hiding out. Some nasty’s coming for me.”

            “Course they are. What you done this time?”

            “Nothing, K! They mad I stepped on their block or something, and they set some rabid zangoose on my ass. Ritzie’s out cold, and I ain’t able to carry him home. They _looking_ for me.”

            I hiss through my teeth, pressing my eyes shut. “I’ve got a match.”

            “K! I’m your damn cousin!”

            “Damn idiot is what you are.” I glance at the electronic board hanging from the carriage ceiling. Station names flash across it, throwing red light over everyone’s faces. “Where you at?”

            “Upper Pass. Block twenty seven, I think. You know that burned-out store, the one Aspinal hit? Stinks of skuntank fire.”

            I know it. It’s four stops away. I only got an hour ‘til the match, but if I’m quick, and if the subway doesn’t fuck up…

            “You owe me,” I say, and I swipe the call off.

            I grip my phone tight, bouncing my foot. The train cants, throwing Disc against my legs, and he barks high above the churning wheels. Four more stops. Just four.  

 

Upper Pass is a shithole, all jutting apartment blocks and gleaming trash bags, streetlights either smashed out or flickering. Shrieks whistle in from somewhere far off, muddled with human shouts and the thumps of what must be pokémon smacking each other into dumpsters. Disc hops over scattered trash, his body rigid.

            “Here,” I call to him.

            We turn down an alley, our footsteps clipping the silence. The streetlight at the other end is bust, so Disc’s rings are all there is to see by. It’s hard to tell where I’m stepping. My boot crunches against a trash bag, then splashes in a puddle of what must be gas. The chemical smell gets right in my throat.

            Then we’re out of the alley, and the smell changes. Burnt rubber. Rancid smoke. Disc growls, his ears flicking. We’ve both smelt it on the pitches before – skuntank fire.

            We turn left. Buildings rear up on all sides, silence hanging heavy between them. The store’s black carcass sits at the end of the road. We make for it. The glass of the shattered streetlight cracks under my heel.

            “Hey!”

            I turn. A kid saunters up to me, stopping about two meters away. Can’t be more than fifteen, cap crammed low on his head, acne scattered all over his cheeks. As I look him up and down, red and white flashes at his side. Something small. A zangoose.

            “You,” he says. “You seen some Pitfall guy? Shaved head. Got a herdier.” 

            I slide my hands in my pockets. Disc moves in front of me, and the kid’s dark eyes zip straight to him.

            “What d’you want with him?” I ask.

            “Fuck’s it to you?”

            The zangoose prowls back and forth, her fur bristling. Disc’s rings flutter. I know what that means.

I take a step back.

Disc moves. Two leaps, a blur of black, and he sinks his teeth into the zangoose’s pelt. She squalls like a flooded engine, writhes, twists, but Disc bites down harder, shaking her like a doll. Blood spatters the concrete.

            “Get it off!” the kid bellows. “Get it the fuck off!”

            The zangoose wrenches free with a crack of ripping fur, scrambling out of Disc’s reach. The scruff of her neck is sticky with blood. Disc’s teeth drip with it. For a moment, everything’s still and quiet, the two of them moving around each other like spokes on a cog. I keep my hands in my pockets. There’s an empty bottle next to my foot, light winking on the glass.

            I kick it, and the zangoose jumps with fright. Disc seizes the moment, throwing a shadowy pulse hard into her stomach and knocking her to the ground. He’s on her in a moment, pinning her with his claws, jaws ghosting her neck.

            I look the kid in the face. His eyes are wide.

            “Get out of here,” I say.

            Disc steps back from the zangoose. She scrambles away, leaping into the kid’s arms, and he presses her tight to his chest. I watch them turn. I watch until they disappear down an alley up the road, until my heartbeat steadies.

            “Didn’t fuckin’ hold back there, did you?” I mutter, glancing at Disc. “Hope you ain’t wore yourself out.”

            He ignores me, licking a spot on his side where the zangoose dug her claws in.

            “Come on,” I say to him. “Ain’t much time.”

            We turn back towards to the burned shop. The floor creaks as I step through the door, and I have to fold my scarf over my nose to keep the smell out. I see black shapes, tarry blocks of crumbled ceiling, plastic goods melted into the floor.   

            “Ripley?” I shout. “I saved your ass. Get out here.”

            Something thumps, then Ripley’s silhouette heaves out from behind the splintered counter, Ritzie heavy in his arms.

            “Was that you out there?” he says. “All that yelling?”

            “It was a goddamn kid. How’d a kid wreck you?”

            “Nasty zangoose, man,” Ripley says. We move out of the burned shop, and Ripley crouches down and lays Ritzie on the ground. His fur’s a bit blood-caked, but nothing too bad. Ripley shakes him a little. “Wake up, buddy. Come on.”   

            I watch them. An uneasy feeling sits in my stomach.

            “What was that kid after you for?” I say.

            Ripley glances at me. “I said, didn’t I? His turf. Got all mad, said I had to step off. Told him I’m a free spirit. I wander where I please.” 

            I think of the kid’s face when Disc had the zangoose pinned. How tightly he held her to his chest. “What you doing in Upper Pass?”

            “Some of us got friends, K,” Ripley says. He touches a cut on Ritzie’s ear. “You gonna just stand there? Or you got something for him?”

            I swing my rucksack round, tossing him a bottle of salve. “You owe me.”

            “You’re golden, K.”

            I glance at my watch. 19:21. Goddamn.

            “I’m going. Some twelve-year-old corners you on the way home, call someone else.”

            “Har har,” Ripley says.  

             I turn and run, Disc leaping ahead of me. As we pass under a streetlight, I see a dash of blood drying into the concrete. I think of the kid’s face. Then we’re in the alley again, and it’s gone.  


End file.
